On Sunday evening I watched a movie. Love & Mercy. The movie is the story of Brian Wilson. In case you didn’t know. And again, in case you didn’t know, Brian Wilson was one of the Beach Boys. As in the band. Well, there’s also a Brian Wilson who played baseball, but that’s not the one the movie’s about.
I am a fan of movies about musicians. Especially true stories. A little over a week ago, I saw Eight Days a Week with my friend. I had wanted to see Love & Mercy for a while, but had kind of forgotten about it until recently. Then I noticed it was available for viewing on Amazon Prime. So, on a bit of a whim, as I hadn’t planned on a movie night, I decided to watch it Sunday.
I am not going to critique the movie. It was good, informative, eye opening, interesting. I’m glad I watched it. I learned a lot. And it reminded me of an event that occurred many, many years ago. Something I hadn’t thought of in quite a while.
I don’t remember all the circumstances surrounding it, but I do remember this. I had been married very briefly. I was living in San Diego. My then husband decided to take me to a Padres game which would be followed by a Beach Boys concert. I was happy. Because I liked the Beach Boys. I had since I was young [in reality I was still pretty young then!]. And I liked the Padres alright, as I’d grown up watching them. So, I figured it would be a nice outing. And it was. All was well until my then husband shared an observation he’d made.
He didn’t feel I was nearly as excited about Jesus as I was about the Beach Boys during the concert.
Apparently I had been too enthusiastic. Too joyful. He said he’d never seen me like that. Which I guess meant he really didn’t know me all that well. It’s not like I went crazy and made any kind of spectacle out of myself. I guess I was just more into it than he expected I’d be. And more into it than Jesus|church|the music played/sang in church|and really I’m not sure what. At least that was his perception.
So like most of those types of experiences, I just kind of put it on hold, in the back of my mind. Knowing I probably couldn’t argue my way out of why I was more outwardly expressive about a rock band than the Savior of the world. Because how do you even begin?
I’m not really certain how one could compare the two. The Beach Boys versus God, so to speak.
Who knows, really? It was ions ago and it matters nil at this point. Although it makes me wonder how subconscious I became over time.
I think even the smallest amount of analysis can remove a bit of freedom. A bit of self. No one likes to consider they might be seen as less than. Especially by those we’re closest to.
It’s crazy, the things we remember. The things we don’t. And the things that shape us and hurt us and sometimes make us wonder how we ever ended up in such a strange scenario.
Did you know the above album is thought by some as one of the greatest albums of all time? If not, consider yourself informed. Whether Jesus cares or not, I’m not sure.